


Pattern

by curiosa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attacks, best friends that sometimes share a bed together, sort of episode s04e07 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiosa/pseuds/curiosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a pattern, routine. Stiles and Scott. The two of them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pattern

It's gone eight by the time Stiles is pulling up to Scott's house, not even caring to park straight, neighbours be damned. As he pulls the jeep up just beside the driveway and allows himself to fall back against the cushion of his seat for the first time in what seems like hours, bumpy and no doubt covered in werewolf and human blood as it is, breathing through his nose – in and out - as he tries to slow down his breathing. Scott's just starting to twitch. He gives himself five seconds, head tilting back and eyes closing as Scott begins to shuffle in his seat, waking up by degrees as he realises they've finally come to a complete stop, the jeep no longer moving.

“We're home.” Stiles says slapping the fabric of Scott's seat and plastering a grin on his face, which considering the outcome of the days events is a lot harder to make look completely normal, never mind genuine or realistic. Not that Scott's paying attention, too sleepy and out of sorts to realise something is wrong. Stretching until his bones pop and Stiles pulls a face right back at him. Scott, of course, ignores him. Eyes sliding into the back of the jeep to look for Kira, widening as he realises she's gone. “Kira?”

Stiles waves back at him reassuringly. Of course Kira's fine, as if Stiles would loose her if Scott was out for just a few minutes. She's firmly in the bubble now. Stiles actually does give a damn about her.

He'd dropped her off not ten minutes ago. Her legs wobbly as she'd gotten out of the jeep, a new snag in her skirt that her nails kept going back to and picking at even as she was talking to him, fingers gripping the door handle just that little bit too tightly as she got out of the jeep. Her mom had already been waiting and keeping silent watch by the window. Stiles had caught the curtains twitching. Kira had rolled her eyes. “She's still a little overprotective.” She'd slid a tired smile onto her face as she insisted Stiles not bother waking Scott up, brushing back strands of her hair behind her ears as she told him to let him sleep in and get his rest, talking over a yawn herself as she let him know that she'd text or call them the next morning.

“Safe and sound and probably already fast asleep or something.” Stiles replies. “Which is probably where you should be.” His Dad was working overtime trying to sort out the fallout from the school and Melissa had taken on an extra shift, allowing Stiles to ship Scott home once she'd given him her own thorough check over. Which with Kira safe at home and Malia still refusing to answer any of his calls or messages, left just the two of them.

“Come on,” Stiles says, pocketing his keys and not missing the stumble that Scott tries his best to hide as they make their way inside the house. It makes something flicker inside of him, bubble thick inside of his stomach uncomfortably as Scott pulls out a slow, everything's normal smile.

Stiles isn't fooled one bit.

As soon as they're both safe inside he turns around to Scott. “You,” he says, pointing right at him. “Need a shower and some food and then bed.” He's already moving to the kitchen, flicking the light on to spread a  
golden glow throughout the house. Melissa never has all the lamps on unnecessarily, saving on the electric bill wherever possible, which Stiles now completely understands. He opens up a cupboard. He's not the best cook, mostly making his dad, when he's actually home and not working over time, eat salads. He's sure he can scrounge up something though. Melissa was bound to have more home comfort type food in her own cupboards than anything in Stiles' kitchen.

“I should probably-” Scott's already got his phone out, leaning against the door frame, fingers fumbling as Stiles moves over to take it out of his grasp. 

“Seriously?” He goes. Moving it away out of reach even as Scott half protests his belongings being forcefully taken out of his hands in front of him. 

“Every one is fine,” Stiles grits out. Pushing the phone further back out of reach on the counter. He'd made sure of that before leaving everyone. His Dad, Lydia and Melissa included. And okay there's Malia, but Maila right now is a different story. One that he doesn't know how to fix. And yes has he screwed that one up completely.

He lets his voice flatten out. “Do not make me use force on you.”

Scott raises his eyebrows, and okay, point, Stiles has nothing on brute strength compared to Scott but it doesn't mean he won't resort to something purely manipulative and sneaky.

“Shower. Now.” Stiles says instead, putting as much force behind his words as possible. Scott opens his mouth, possibly to protest, probably to demand his phone back, but then thinks better of it, shoulders slumping back. 

“Yeah, I thought so.” Stiles flaps his hands. “Off with you now. I'm gonna go make myself useful in the kitchen.” 

“Hey, you've still got blood on you.” And Scott's nail scrapes against the curve of his throat.

Stiles shrugs. It's only blood he thinks. “I'll clean up later.”

Scott stares at him, eyes white hot and burning until Stiles flinches away. There's no doubt his best friend can see straight through him. “You're sure?” He asks, waiting as Stiles nods back at him.

“Right after you've washed everything off of you.” He wrinkles his nose and Scott rolls his eyes, the whites of his eyes coming up to meet him. Scott's sense of smell is stronger and Stiles is sure he can smell the stale scent of sweat and blood and fear stitched into every inch of his clothing. 

He hesitates a beat, waiting before he's sure and then fleeing up the stairs away from him.

Stiles roots out a can of soup, because that's what you want when you're sick, right? Or getting over not feeling well at least. Stiles remembers Melissa's seemingly endless supply when he'd stayed over at Scott's after the whole nogitsune thing. Although he's sure Melissa had made hers fresh, thick chunks of crumbling potato and soft meat that had melted in his mouth, herbs and spices that had seemed the only way to warm him up from the inside out completely. 

He digs out some fresh bread, or fresher once he sets to toasting it, and sets the can of soup to boiling away on the stove.

Five minutes later Stiles can hear the shower running. Finally. He leans back against the counter, left waiting for the soup, and doesn't miss the way that his hand shakes against the top, the way his legs suddenly feel too heavy to support the weight of the rest of his body.

Too close he thinks. They came too damn close that time.

For a split second he feels a familiar tightness stretch across his chest, building up behind his breastbone, hammering out a too fast beat. Repeating the words too close over and over in his head. He tightens his grip on the counter top, fingertips turning white where he's gripping too tightly.

“-les?”

Stiles blinks slowly.

“Stiles?”

Then Scott's stood in front of him, a blur of muscle and smooth skin and strong hands that grip the tops of his shoulders, fingers kneading the skin through the thin layer of the shirt that he's wearing.

“Stiles? Breathe slowly. Okay?”

Stiles nods. Feet on the ground, toes pressing down into his shoes, grounding himself back into reality. He's in the warm kitchen of the McCall household, there's something like an acrid smell drifting between the two of them, clinging to Stiles' skin and Scott's soap, sharp like mint, chilling the back of his throat. His hands come up to grip at Scott's wrists, his skin still damp where his pulse beats, steady and familiar and alive alive alive.

Scott moves his hand to the front of Stiles' face. “Count them with me?”

Stiles nods, sounding out one, two, three, four, five as Scott brings his fingers down one at a time and repeats the numbers back with him. It's a pattern, a routine the two of them used to repeat over and over, days and weeks after the nogitsune left him. The times when Stiles would wake up and begin to question whether he was truly awake. The moments of doubt that would steal away what felt like his sanity as well as his breath. 

“Hey. Hey? I'm here, you're here.” Scott nods and Stiles looks up at him, swallowing his words faster then his breath, sucking them down greedily. Feeling the truth push up against his ribs. He brings his hand round to the back of Scott's neck, fingers curling into his hair where it's wet to pull him in and down, closer and into his touch. His other hand sliding down damp skin until his fingers rest against where his pulse point beats, feeling it press back against him, strong and steady. One, two. One, two.

“For a second there,” Stiles swallows. “For just a second there. I really thought I'd lost you.” And just like that the words are out there and once again Stiles feels like he's lost his breath. Like he can't quite figure out how to get his throat to work, how to make his lungs push past the too tight stretch of his ribs.

Scott presses his face against Stiles' forehead, fingers coming up to press and brace against his face.

“I'm here. You're here.” He repeats. A slow curl of a smile unfurling across his face. “You haven't lost me.”

Stiles nods back as Scott's hair brushes his skin in wisps, tickling against the top of his forehead. 

There'd been a wall between them then. He thinks. A force of stone that no matter how many times Stiles had pounded against it, had refused to budge even the slightest of an inch. 

Even as the nogitsune he'd been able to see Scott, to feel him, to try and push past the control of the thing that had a hold of him and was using him to try and hurt his best friend.

This time though. 

For the first time Stiles had been able to do absolutely nothing.

“Stiles.” And just like that Scott's turning his head, allowing Stiles the space to move in closer towards him, pressing his lips against his cheek, his jaw line, swallowing his mouth whole in a single kiss.

His fingers are shaking, small tremors that run through his body even as Scott allows him to push back against him, forcing them both to back up against the wall if either of them want to remain under the illusion that they'll be upright for very much longer. As Scott takes a hold of his hand and pulls it up between the two of them. Under the light cotton of his shirt, skimming up against his ribs as Scott licks his way into his mouth, to the soft hollow where his heart beats as Stiles' head swarms, light and dizzy. As he takes in all of Scott that he can, as he thinks this this this.

Scott lets him mark him, lets him take in every warm and soft piece of him until he's almost out of breath. It's a pattern they've established, waking up to lazy mornings when Stiles had had trouble sleeping. When he'd snapped awake in the middle of the night. The only place that had felt comfortable, safe, being in Scott's bed, knowing that Scott was with him. Tracing sleep warm hands and soft mouths over each others skin, until Stiles had felt comfortable once again in his own body, until he knew that he was grounded by the red and swollen marks across Scott's skin. 

The marks that Stiles knew he had given him. 

The ones that in return Scott had given him. 

Already he's made half moon dents where his nails have pressed down too tightly, quickly fading as Scott's werewolf abilities kick in. His teeth grazing across Scott's skin until his world stops spinning and they're somehow pressed together against the kitchen sink, the acrid smell of burning now thicker than ever, making even Scott's eyes water as he comes back into the moment, blinking twice as fast, Stiles' eyes stinging.

“Toast is ruined.” Stiles groans, his voice grinding up against the paper skin of Scott's throat. It makes him shiver, makes him turn around too slowly to save what little is left of the pan of soup behind them.

When he turns back Scott's eyes are huge and dark and it takes Stiles a moment to pull himself back and away from him. To not try and swallow Scott whole in another kiss that's already trying to consume him.

“You think?” Scott says, laughing then hissing as he throws the sizzling pan quickly into the sink before it burns him. 

Stiles presses him into the sink, bracing his knees against his thighs. Trapping Scott from behind as he curls his head over his shoulder, hooking his chin into the column of his throat.

“You know you should never leave me to do the cooking.”

“Too easily distracted, right?” Scott says, already moving to pour a load of soap suds into the thick blackened mess that once upon a time was to become their dinner. 

“You know, Mom'll be home in a few hours and your dad will want something more substantial than one of your home made salads anyway.” Stiles tries to pull a face but he's too wrapped up in that hot, soft, pliable way to really put any true malice behind it. 

Scott wins this round and he knows it.

“How about I help you cook an actual dinner then?”

Stiles hums an agreement. Knowing that he's going to spend at least the next half hour pressed up against Scott as he prepares strips of meat and Stiles sets to chopping up whatever vegetables Scott throws at him. He'll spend the night he thinks, because of course Scott will let him. He'll borrow some of Scott's clothes tomorrow instead of heading out early, spending every second of the day wrapped up in Scott's warmth, all around him the scent of home and family.


End file.
